Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Embrace Your Weird September 8, 2013

We are all weird. Although we all start the same way, when Mr. Sperm meets and greets Ms. Egg, somewhere along the way we each develop in our own uniquely weird way.

As small children we have some weirdness that begins to show. Some, as toddlers, run around in full naked glory and refuse to put on clothing. Some eat weird food concoctions, or only eat one or two foods. Young children don’t mind being weird because they mostly only think of themselves. But soon, they grow up and become…TEENAGERS. Teenagers thrive on being the same as everyone else. Anything that makes them different must be hidden at all cost. Some people get stuck in this mindset and spend the rest of their lives hiding their weirdness and trying to live exactly like everyone else. They are the ones who will never fully develop their own hidden potentials because they are too busy trying to be normal.

Being weird is not a bad thing. In fact, I am here today to celebrate my own brand of weirdness. It is my weirdness that makes me who I am. My weirdness factor sets me apart from every other person living on my street or in my town. I am uniquely me, and proud of it!

Here are several weirdness factors about me:

1. When I am following directions, I visualize a birds-eye view of the area roads. I am good at finding my way around, but not good at telling someone else how to get there because no one understands my way of seeing it.

2. I hate, truly hate, shopping. I am a rare breed of woman who would never set foot in a store OF ANY KIND if I had a choice. I don’t like buying clothes, shoes, household items, gifts, groceries, or any other necessities of life. I do love online shopping for things, though. Why? Because I can find unique items that no one else will have.

3. I love singing in my car. I have a 30 minute drive to work and I spend most of the time singing at the top of my lungs. (I am not very good, but I don’t care!) I don’t look at other people or cars, so I could care less what they think. The other thing I do in my car is talk. To myself. Out loud. Sometimes very animated.

4. I am artistic just to be artistic. I create what I want to create. Most of my work is sitting in my studio in piles. I get people who ask me all the time to paint certain things, but that is not how I work. I stare at the canvas (or wood, or whatever) and let it tell me what it needs to be. Anything else is forced. The same is true of poems or stories I write. I cannot pre-plan; it becomes what it was meant to be.

5.  I count colors. When sitting in a waiting room, or standing in line, I look around and see the different colors of all the people and objects. I then count the colors that touch one another. No color can be repeated. This is a game I started as a young child when I had trouble falling asleep at night. It soothes me, even now.

These are only a few of the many, many ways I am weird. How are you weird? What makes you a wonderfully flawed and beautiful human? Embrace your own weirdness, and share with me!

 

Different July 4, 2012

There once was a girl who had everything she needed. She had a mother and father who loved her. She lived in a nice house in suburbia with her parents, brother, sister, and dog. She had many friends to play with in the neighborhood. This girl had everything, and yet she felt different. She was an average looking girl, but she always felt ugly. Because she felt different inside she learned to hide her feelings and true thoughts at a very young age.
This girl grew up and became a young woman. She had strange new feelings and began to drink and do drugs. She still felt different, as if no one would ever understand her. She tried to fit in with first one group, then another, but never felt herself.
This young woman grew up and became a mother. She tried her best to be a good mother, but it was so hard. She still felt different and by this time unlovable. She sometimes felt so incomplete she just wanted to run away or die.  She still felt unhappy and different.
~
I wish this story had a happy ending. I don’t know yet, though, because I am still living it. Maybe, one day, she will fit in, feel lovable, and find out it’s okay to be different.